In Limbo
by The Buzz
Summary: One night in Purgatory, Dean is surprised to encounter his father. But what is John doing there? And more importantly, how will his sons deal with his return? (Featuring the Winchesters, Cas, Benny, and other season 8 regulars, as well plenty of character stuff, action, and angst.)
1. Chapter 1

The crackling of the small fire was pleasant and Dean let his thoughts drift. It wasn't every night they made one—there was no real need to cook, and fire could draw monsters like a beacon—but today had been both unusually cold and unusually slow in the monster department, and so Dean and Benny had made the decision together. Fire. Now Dean sat with his back to a stump, one knee up and the other leg out before him, sharpening his blade, and Benny sat not quite across from him but not quite with him either, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. In the flickering glow the night felt almost peaceful.

"Ever do this as a kid?" Benny asked.

Dean glanced up from his blade. "Do what?" he asked.

"This." Benny shrugged. "Campfire. Time was I could sit out there for hours on a summer night, just watching the flames and listening to the woods around me. Good days, those."

"Oh." Dean shook his head, and watched a little wistfully as one of the logs collapsed, sending up a shower of embers. "Nah. Not really. I mean, Dad taught us some marine stuff but we never just sat out there. Couple of times at Bobby's I guess." He snorted softly. "Tried to roast marshmallows with Sammy once or twice but it turns out people look down on ten-year-olds setting fires in motel parking lots."

"Well," Benny said, "you missed out."

Dean nodded, setting the blade down. It was sharp enough. "I'm getting that."

They fell into companionable silence again, sitting that way until the fire started to gutter. They'd been at this for weeks, now, running, fighting, searching for Cas, and slowly Dean was beginning to feel something unexpected—actual friendship. And more than that, he was actually beginning to trust the guy. It was more than he could say for anyone, really, since Cas's betrayal, though of course Cas was…a special case.

He was pulled from his thoughts a second time by a foreign sound in the woods behind them, the subtle but unmistakable crackle of leaves underfoot, and it was close. Much closer than Dean should ever have allowed it to be. Well, this was the price they paid for their fire and their peace. No different from the way things were at home, really, but at least here the tradeoff was unambiguous.

In a fluid motion he met Benny's eyes, grabbed his blade and stood, pivoting to meet the threat behind him, and he could see Benny doing the same, fangs extending as he moved toward the threat. As soon as Dean was up the creature shot toward him. Impossible to tell in the flickering firelight what monster the soul had belonged to but as Dean ducked a forceful blow by a spiked weapon he caught a glimpse of wild eyes and thick hair and ragged clothes—something familiar about it all but he couldn't say what—then the moment was gone, the figure out of the dying firelight and charging at him again. They parried and hacked for a few seconds—damn it this monster was _good_—until Dean turned and swung with his blade but missed, the ragged man letting Dean's momentum carry him forward slamming the club into the side of Dean's leg just above the knee. Dean dropped to the rocky ground with a yell but as he did Benny came up from behind, taking his place. He and the monster traded blows quickly as Dean stumbled to his feet but when Benny landed a forceful punch to the man's side he doubled over and Dean saw his in. He charged forward and rammed the man against the nearest thick tree trunk, knocking the makeshift mace out of his hand and holding his blade to the man's throat, snarling the question he asked of every monster they defeated.

"Where's the angel?"

"The what?" the man snapped.

More than anything it was his voice—gruff, irritated but so much the same—that made Dean freeze and stare at the face in the orange glow of the dying fire, unbelieving. For the man's voice, the face under the beard, the way he moved and fought weren't just familiar, he was— "Dad?"

John Winchester stared at him, equally uncomprehending. "Dean?"

Dean blinked several times but his father's face didn't leave his vision, haggard and angry but unmistakably Dad under the beard and the grime and a long scar clipping one ear. Dean let his blade relax, though he'd seen enough in Purgatory to know not to let it drop completely, and asked breathlessly, "What the hell?"

John—or at least the man who looked like John—glanced down at the blade still pinning him to the tree, then back up at Dean. "Silver blade?" he asked.

Dean nodded reflexively, aware Benny was watching with interest but completely at a loss to explain anything for himself, let alone to the vampire. "Yeah," he said, drew a small knife out of his back pocket, flipped it open, and used it to slice the arm still holding the larger weapon to his dad's throat. When nothing happened John nodded, once, chin scraping Dean's blade, and raised his arm slowly for Dean do the same. The skin split but there was no tell-tale hiss and after a moment Dean put the small knife back in his pocket, took half a step back, and let the arm holding his stone cleaver drop.

"Dad," he said, then shook his head, opening and closing his mouth a few times before other words actually found their way out. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," John said.

"I thought you went to Heaven," Dean said. "After Yellow Eyes—you went up in a flash of light—how did you end up here?"

"Never made it," John said, shrugging slightly. Dean blinked, still trying to process the fact that this conversation was happening at all, let alone the words his father was saying. He glanced at Benny and the vampire was watching impassively…but then how could he possibly know what this meant? How crazy this was? "Felt something grab a hold of me," John went on. "Everything got brighter and I thought I was on my way upstairs. Then it all stopped and I was here. Like I got yanked back. Don't know why." He narrowed his eyes at Dean. "So what's your excuse? Did you die? What about Sammy? Is Sammy all right?"

Dean shook his head. One thing at a time. "Sammy's fine," he said. "And I'm not dead, at least I don't think so." As for the rest of the story, well, the full version would probably take a whole hell of a lot more time than he wanted to spend just then. Not to mention dredge up several things he wasn't sure he wanted his father to know. "Had a run-in with some leviathans back home," he said simply. "Turns out you explode one, it sends you here. Been running and hunting since." And looking for Cas. But that was _really_ a story for another day.

"You know your footwork is rusty," Dad said. "Never used to be so easy to knock you down."

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but closed it without a sound, caught halfway between a reflexive _yes sir_ and arguing that his fighting technique was just fine, especially considering he'd recently spent weeks in a full leg cast. But it was more than that. This was _Dad_. The man he'd alternately loved and mourned and hated and feared he was becoming, over and over again, and they were practically making small talk in the gray wasteland of Purgatory as though none of the last seven years—the last thirty years—had happened. What made it stranger was that he'd imagined this moment so many times after Dad died. Wishing for forgiveness or revenge or simply answers…and now that he was here he had no idea what to do. He wanted so many things—to reach out and envelop him in a hug, to hit him as hard as he could, to shove him against the tree again and demand explanations for every choice that had screwed him and Sammy from the day Mom died to the day Dad leaned over his bed and told him he'd have to kill his brother if he couldn't save him—but instead, he just stared, and Dad stared back. An eerie sense of déjà vu reminded Dean of the last time they'd stood almost like this, their positions reversed, a monster looking out through Dad's eyes and spouting words that had reverberated in his mind for years after because they were so true. But things had changed. Dean had changed. And he had absolutely no idea what to say.

"I hate to break up this moment," Benny said.

Both Dean and John's heads snapped toward the vampire, who raised his hands in a pacifying motion.

"What's up?" Dean said, immediately alert. He stepped back from John a bit more and scanned the woods around them, tightening his grip on his blade.

"Just hoping someone could tell me what's going on here," Benny said.

Oh. Dean let out a breath and let the weapon drop again. He'd grown used to Benny's vampire senses picking up approaching monsters he'd been ready to fight at the sound of his companion's voice. Of course it was a good thing they weren't being attacked but to be honest he might have welcomed the distraction. Hunting here was simple. Pure. Figuring out what to do with any of these feelings… not so much. "Benny, this is my father," Dean said, then let out a single laugh and gestured between them because he couldn't think of anything else to do. "John, Benny. Benny, John."

"Nice to meet you, John," Benny said.

John didn't return the greeting. Instead, he glared at Dean as soon as the vampire had spoken. "You're hunting with a vampire." It was more a statement than a question, and the betrayal in his voice was plain. Dean wondered at for a moment until he remembered that Dad had never met vampires who didn't drink people, nor demons who'd put aside their hate to work on a common cause nor angels who'd fall for a couple of humans. In Dad's world the supernatural was always wrong and bad, and to him any alliance was akin to selling one's soul. Somehow, Dean imagined, neither a century in Hell nor five years in this wasteland had done much to dispel that belief.

He sighed softly and answered anyway, though he knew it was probably futile. "Benny's been nothing but good to me, Dad," he said, and Benny gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. "He also knows the way out."

"There's a way out?" Dad stared at Benny again, disbelieving, and addressed him directly for the first time since they'd met. His voice took on a strange timbre that might have been hope. "You know a way out?"

"Soon as Dean finds his angel," Benny smiled.

At this, however, John's eyes narrowed again and he studied Dean. "You did ask me about an angel," he recalled. "What does that mean?"

"Angels are real," Dean said, shrugging. He remembered his own introduction to that fact, and how little he'd wanted to believe it, but he couldn't exactly fathom a way to break the news gently. "God, Heaven, all of it. God's been kind of an absent dickbag, though."

"Can't be," John said, glancing between Dean and Benny as if the vampire could offer some kind of reason. "There's no such thing. I'd know."

"I thought so too, Dad," Dean said softly. Benny nodded. "Believe me. They're real. Most of 'em, you wouldn't want anything to do with, but Cas…"

"The angel you're looking for," John clarified. Dean could practically see the gears working in his head, the lines in his forehead deepening in disapproval. But then, Dad had never welcomed the unknown, and to Dad Cas had to seem as unnatural as Benny and just as undeserving of real concern. Still, if this was going to work at all, he had to try to make him understand.

"Cas is my friend," Dean said, ignoring the way the disbelief on his dad's face shifted until it bordered again on betrayal, or worse, disappointment. He set his jaw and gazed back at Dad evenly. "And I'm not leaving here without him."

* * *

_Notes:_

_First off, big thanks to my awesome friend Becky for helping me plan this story as well as looking this over and offering suggestions. You're the best!_

_Also, I posted a story with a similar premise a couple of weeks ago, but took it down when I realized it wasn't very compliant with canon. In trying to figure out what to do with it, I ended up coming up with this story instead, which will go in a fairly different direction. ...None of which terribly important for anyone to know, except that if the premise seems familiar that's probably why._

_Finally, thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Notes:_

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed! You guys make my day. __Also, sorry for the wait on this chapter. I had a few busy weekends in a row, but future updates shouldn't be much more than a week or so apart._

_Also, Becky hasn't had a chance to look at this chapter yet, so all mistakes are mine._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

John had surprisingly little to say about Dean's declaration. "An angel is your friend?" he asked. He sounded doubtful, but the stress had been ever so slightly on the word _friend_—as though that were the unbelievable part. It rankled a little bit but then, Dean supposed, Dad had never seen him (never let him) have a friend before.

"Yeah," Dean said, the word coming out more defensively than he'd intended. "He's also saved my ass more times than I can count."

"How did this happen?" John asked.

"It's a long story," Dean said. A long story he had no intention of telling any time soon. Dad didn't need to know he'd been to Hell, nor that he'd started the apocalypse or how many times he'd lost Sam in the process. There would be a time for it, sure, but it was hard enough for him to process the fact of his father's presence. He could only imagine what Dad was thinking and there was no need to add his list of recent failures into the mix. "The angels thought they needed me for something and sent Cas to get me," he said simply. "Started working with him and ended up that way I guess."

"Means a lot to you, then?" John asked, his voice heavy with skepticism. "This…angel?"

Dean nodded, but didn't explain further. Hell, he wasn't sure he understood what his relationship with Cas was, exactly…and there was no way he was going to try to explain it to his father.

"I see," John said, in a tone that clearly said he didn't see, but he didn't press the point. Instead he rubbed a hand across his chin and regarded Dean intently. "But you're sure Sam's okay?"

Dean nodded again, not quite expecting the change of subject but not terribly surprised by it either. In any case the rapid-fire nature of his dad's questions was so familiar he couldn't help but answer, quick and concise, like Dad had always taught him. "He was fine."

"Where'd you leave him?" John asked. "Was he fighting leviathans too?"

"We were both there," Dean said. "But you kill the main guy, the rest die too. Or something. Sammy can take care of himself."

"Was he alone?"

Dean sighed. Of course John would never take _Sammy can take care of himself_ for an answer. Hell, Dean might have actually had a childhood if he had. "Not alone," Dean said, forcing the bitterness out of his voice. He focused on recalling the lab where they'd cornered Dick Roman, and how Sam had burst in with Kevin seconds before Dick's explosion had dragged him and Cas here. "Sam had a kid with him but the place was clear of levis."

"A kid?" John demanded, his eyes widening. "Whose kid?"

"A prophet," Dean clarified. "They're, uh, they're real too." He shrugged. "Read and write the word of God, useful stuff these days. This one's a 17-year-old kid from Michigan. Nice guy, crappy luck."

"A prophet," John repeated, rubbing his forehead.

Dean let out a breath. It really was amazing, he reflected, how much had changed since they'd said goodbye nearly six years ago, more if you counted either of their stints in the pit—and he had a feeling that Dad, at least, did. Hell, the last they'd spent any quality alone time together Sam had still been at Stanford and Dean had been an eager-to-please twenty-six-year-old with absolutely no idea what was in store for any of them.

John glanced at what remained of the fire, a pile of mostly flickering embers with a few flames licking up here and there, and folded his arms. "We should talk," he decided.

Dean nodded cautiously. Despite all there was that he didn't want to tell his dad, at least not yet, they still had somewhere around a hundred and fifty years of catching up to do between the two of them. They'd have to start somewhere. "Sure," Dean said, and hoped John didn't hear the hesitation in his voice.

Of course he did. "Something wrong with that?" he asked, studying Dean in the dimly flickering firelight.

"What?" Dean said, looking around stupidly as though the answer might lie in the shadowy woods around them. When he accidentally met Benny's eyes, the vampire gave him an encouraging nod. He looked back to Dad. "No. Of course not."

"Good," John said. He too scanned the woods, though his expression was set, focused, like Dean had seen on a hundred hunts before. "We should be safe here as long as you put that damn thing out." He nodded toward what was left of the fire. "It makes you a target and it makes you blind. You should know better."

Dean just stared for a moment, completely unsure of how to respond. The part of him that was thrilled to have Dad back and, as much as he didn't want to admit it, had missed him over the years like a part of himself, wanted to jump to obey like the good son he'd always been. That was how it was supposed to be with Dad, no matter how condescending the orders got. But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he was not that naïve, obedient kid anymore. Daddy's blunt little screwed up instrument. Hell, it had taken the shock of Dad's death and years of the consequences of Dad's actions unraveling for him see that what Dad had done to him and Sam was twisted, that it wasn't right to raise your children as soldiers, and that Dad had robbed them of a childhood, a home, and a normal life, then abandoned them and not even had the decency to pick up the phone when they'd needed him. Moreover it had taken all those years for Dean to get angry, call John a deadbeat dad and believe it. Once he had, though, he'd felt free for the first time in his life. The idea of giving that up…he just couldn't do it.

He met John's gaze, shrugged, and said something he'd never had the balls to say before. It felt strangely good. "Nah."

John's eyes glinted in the dying light. "I wasn't asking," he said.

"I know," Dean said. "But a lot has changed."

John's disbelief was palpable. "What, you became an idiot?" he sneered, and shook his head. "If you didn't notice, boy, we're in Purgatory."

Dean glanced at Benny, who was watching the argument with a mildly troubled expression but remained otherwise impassive. Not that Dean had been expecting—or even hoping for, considering how well it probably would have gone over—much help from that quarter. Benny was his friend, but he had to rightly know that he had no part in this. "I know where we are," he gritted, feeling the anger stirring again. It was just like Dad to come back into his life after six years and treat him…well, exactly like he'd always treated him. Shouldn't have been any kind of surprise. Dad was Dad. Dean had always been able to handle him before, though...he was must just have been out of practice. Still, if there was one thing he did know, it was that John always answered a challenge with a challenge. If he wanted to get through to him he'd have to take a different approach. Dean took a calming breath. "Look, Dad," he tried softly, keeping his voice low and placating, as he'd always done when John got mad in the past. John's eyebrows rose at the change in tone. "Me and Sammy, we've been doing this without you for years now. We've faced things I don't think you could imagine. Believe me. I know what I'm doing."

"I'll believe that when I see it," John said harshly. After a second, though, he scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed heavily. "Dean, I'm sorry. I know you've been on your own." He took half a step back and leaned against the tree Dean had been pressing him up against with an axe to his throat not fifteen minutes before. He sounded exhausted. "But you have to understand, son, I've been in this place a bit longer than you have. I know a thing or two."

Dean offered a small conciliatory smile. "Five years, right? That's how long it's been for us since the Devil's Gate."

"Five years," John repeated, and shook his head. "Damn."

They looked at each other. For the first time since John's appearance, Dean felt like he could breathe.

"You do look older," John noted after a moment. "You were like a puppy when I left."

"A puppy?" Dean couldn't help a snort of laughter, and he saw Benny grin across the fire. "Yeah. I guess. You should really see Sammy now, though."

"What is he, ten feet tall?" John asked.

Dean didn't dispute it. "Built like a semi, too."

"You don't say."

"Not so sure about the long hair, though," Dean added, miming hair down to his shoulders with his free hand. "Kinda girly."

John actually laughed.

It was that, and the first real hint of warmth he'd seen in his dad's eyes since their meeting, that made Dean walk over to the fire and wordlessly kick a shower of dirt over embers. Shadows danced around the small clearing, and he was aware that Benny was watching, his expression strangely sad. Well, Dean thought, sending another spray of dirt over the fire, he had no right to judge. There was no way he could possibly understand.

They all got more comfortable once the fire was out. Benny was the first to take his old seat, stretching his legs out before him. Not quite willing to get so relaxed, Dean perched atop the stump he'd used as a backrest before, weapon leaning up against the stump and within easy reach. His leg ached where his dad had caught him with the spiked club, but it didn't feel too badly damaged so he ignored the pain. For his part, John sat down atop the log that had once belonged to Dean's stump and now lay tangent to what was left of the fire. He kept one hand on his weapon but fixed Dean with an easy gaze.

"There are some things I want to know," John said once they were all situated. "This way out. What is it?"

Dean just looked to Benny. It was the vampire's gig, after all, and Benny could explain it better than he could. It probably also wouldn't hurt to force his dad to at least acknowledge the vampire's presence. Benny had been an impressively good sport so far, but in the end he was a vampire and there was no telling how long that would last. Aside from which, Benny was a decent guy and he didn't deserve to be treated as less than human.

"It's a portal," Benny said amiably, his shrug barely visible in the dim light. "Made by God himself to spit out humans like yourselves who got stuck here. So they say, anyhow."

John shook his head. "I been here along time," he said, sounding skeptical. "Never heard of it."

"You talk to many monsters?" Benny asked.

John narrowed his eyes. "No," he said slowly, his voice low and threatening. "Do you?"

Dean spoke up before the danger in his father's tone could turn into any other kind of danger. "It's okay, Dad," he tried. "I wouldn't've found out either but Benny came to me with it. Saved my life in the process. He's not like the other monsters."

Still clearly doubtful, John looked to Benny, who flashed a smile that fell somewhere between cordial and an animal baring its teeth. Dean rubbed his forehead. It wasn't that he expected his dad and Benny to become the best of friends. But he also didn't relish the thought of being caught in the middle of a pissing match, particularly one brought on by his father's stubborn unwillingness to trust anything supernatural, for as long as it took to find Cas. It was already reminding him too much of the headbutting that had always begun John and Sam's arguments—except there was a real possibility here that if things went too far, one or the other of the disputants might actually do some damage.

Miraculously, though, John seemed willing to let it go, at least for the moment. "So Dean," he said. His voice was friendly again and as he went on, Dean supposed his curiosity about his sons after so many years had superseded the desire to put Benny in his place...or whatever the hell he'd been hoping to do. "You said you and Sammy were hunting when you got sucked here," Dad said. "You two been together since Yellow Eyes?"

Relieved at the change of subject, Dean nodded. "More or less," he said, then allowed a little smile to show. He realized he'd been sitting stiffly on the stump, tense, and forced himself to relax. "We do make a hell of a team."

"I'll bet," John said, but something in his voice was sad. "I take it Sammy never did make it to law school, then, did he. Never got married?"

"Nah," Dean said. Hell, the last time they'd talked in any way about the life he could've had Sam had said he'd rather have Lilith's head on a plate…and that had been three or four years ago already. "Never even tried."

"Don't know whether I'm glad to hear that or not," John said. He studied Dean. "What about you? You get anything you wanted?"

Dean froze. As always, when he was drunk or simply stupid enough to let himself think about it, he remembered life with Lisa and Ben, and how despite his grief over Sam he'd had a family free of painful obligations and a place to call home for the first time in his life. But in the end he'd given that up for Sam and duty, and it was hard to think of anything else that even remotely fit the bill. Well, he supposed, there was Cas, but then he'd never known he wanted a nerdy angel friend in his life until one had appeared. He took a moment to look hard at John, who—for perhaps the first time in his life again—actually seemed interested in the answer. Still, the very fact it was Dad asking made him want to hold back. "What I wanted?" Dean repeated, maybe a second or two too late, and laughed humorlessly. "What the hell did I ever want?"

John considered him for a moment. "Guess I never thought that much about it," he said softly.

Benny snorted. John shot him a threatening glare, hand tightening around his weapon.

"Right now I just want to find Cas and get the hell out of here," Dean said.

That got Dad's attention well enough. "Tell me more about this angel who means so much to you," he said.

"Cas?" Dean said, and blinked a few times, trying to figure out how to answer. "What do you want to know?"

"How about what the hell kind of creature an angel is first of all," John drawled. "If I'm looking for one might help to know. We talking wings? Flying? White robes and hymn singing?"

"None of that," Dean said. It was easier talking about this than it was about what he had—or hadn't—accomplished since Dad's death, but it also brought with it a new kind of pain. He could picture the last he'd seen of the angel's face, deadly serious for the first time since healing Sam, as clearly as if it had been yesterday. _We're much more likely to be ripped to shreds_. Then nothing. It still hurt to think about losing him again and he let out a breath at the memory. "Cas would say he's an infinite celestial wavelength or something, but he just looks like a guy. A nerdy little guy in a trench coat. You'd never know what he was." He shrugged. "Wings are more something angels…do."

"A trench coat," John echoed. "You're joking."

"Nah," Dean said fondly, and couldn't help the little smile that pulled at his lips. It really was ridiculous to think about, as familiar as the sight had once become. "He looks like a friggin' holy encyclopedia salesman but he loves that thing."

John's reaction was not what he expected.

"I saw a man in a trench coat a couple weeks back," he said. "Would've hunted him but a pack of leviathans got there first and I got out of the way. Doubt he's still there but could be a place to pick up the trail."

"You saw him?" Dean said, barely aware he'd stood up and grabbed his weapon, nerves thrumming. He hadn't been so close to Cas's trail in months. Both John and Benny were staring at him a little like he'd lost his mind. "Come on," he said. "We have to go."

"It's been weeks, Dean," Benny said. It seemed half a plea to remain where they were, at least for the night, and half a friend's reminder not to set his hopes too high.

"I'll take you," John said, rising with him. For a moment they just stood, staring at each other through the darkness with weapons in hand, and Dean felt a thrill of the familiar. Him and Dad, on a hunt again. "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

John loved to watch Dean hunt. He always had. Even as a boy, his eldest had moved with a fluid, catlike grace it had taken Sammy years more to learn. As he'd gotten older, the grace had remained, the light quickness replaced by a controlled raw power that was impressive to behold. It had told John, even on the days he doubted himself, even on the days he wondered if maybe he should have just let Mary's death be and moved on with his life, that he had made the right decision. Dean was a god damn natural.

Well, most of the time, anyway. His natural flew past him at hip level, hit the ground rolling and came to a stop next to a tree and lay still. The wendigo soul that had thrown him shrieked and John leapt forward, smashing his club into its head with a grunt. It gurgled as its skull caved in, but wendigos were tricky monsters to stop and this one was no exception. It stumbled forward, swiping with its claws, and would have taken John's arm off if he'd looked at Dean—who was starting to pick himself up, thank God—for any longer. Nearby the vampire was grappling with two more. The fourth, felled by Dean's cleaver before the others even knew what hit them, lay a few feet away, its severed head wedged under a nearby bush. John landed another blow to his adversary's head and this time its whole cranium burst open, splattering him with a lumpy grayish fluid and bits of atrophied brain. It fell, and John smashed its head in once more to be sure. The other two wendigos had the vampire on his back and John watched Dean stumble across the stony ground, grabbing his cleaver as he went, to land a clumsy blow downward where the creature's neck met its shoulder. Clumsy was concerning and so John joined the fray, pulling the injured wendigo away from the vampire so Dean could finish it off with a better-aimed swing.

The vampire had managed to pin the last wendigo against the ground, but shot a glance at Dean before he spoke. "Where's the angel?" he asked the creature in the politely condescending southern drawl that John was very quickly growing tired of, rattling it and knocking its head off a rock when it didn't answer. "You seen the angel?" The thing just made a wailing noise and after a second or two of that Benny shrugged, glanced at Dean again, and cut its head off. Dean nodded approvingly as the creature shuddered and went still. Dean and the vampire worked well as a team and that bothered John in ways he didn't fully understand himself.

"All right, Dean?" John asked as soon as it was clear no member of the wendigo pack was going to get up again.

"I'm fine," Dean said, though one arm was wrapped around his ribs and he was breathing shallowly. Knowing Dean, that meant something hurt but wasn't likely to kill him, and John nodded. Dean looked back and forth between John and the vampire. "But that was a rough one. You guys okay?"

"I'll make it," Benny drawled, catching John's eyes just long enough to let him know his next words were, in fact, a poke at John. "Thanks for asking."

John bit down on a surge of annoyance as well as the urge to roll his eyes, and answered Dean instead. "I'm fine too," he said, and looked his eldest up and down. "What happened there?"

His son shrugged, then winced slightly. "Not sure. Thing was faster than me. It happens."

"It happens too much and you're dead," John reminded him, then let it drop, crouching to use a handful of leaves to wipe gray goo off his club. What mattered was that Dean was okay and that he knew not to let his guard down anymore. Instead of acknowledging John's advice, however, with a nod or a _yes sir_ like he might have once done, Dean just glanced around at the carnage.

"I friggin' hate wendigos," he said. "Never tell you anything useful."

"Don't smell too good neither," the vampire agreed. John refrained from pointing out that bloodsuckers didn't make for great company either. Dean had made it clear early on that he wouldn't tolerate jibes from either side, and out of respect for his son John had mostly kept his feelings about the vampire to himself.

All in all they'd been at this for nearly five days now, scouring the area around where John had last seen the angel, an otherwise unremarkable clearing with a large rock, looking for any creature who might know where it had gone. John still wasn't in love with the idea of all this either. No matter what Dean said, an angel was a creature, and in twenty years of hunting, a century of Hell and five years of fighting for his life in this godforsaken place, he had yet to meet one who didn't mean him or his family harm. But Dean had never let him down before and until he was given reason to think otherwise, John would trust Dean more than anyone else in the world. Hell, that was the only reason he hadn't yet killed the vampire where he stood.

"So where to next?" Benny asked, stowing the blade he'd stolen off a shapeshifter corpse two days back and scratching his head under his cap.

Dean gazed into the forest. "I say we keep going the way we been going," he said, sounding a little pained but determined. "One of the monster around here must have seen him."

"Let's just hope it's one that speaks English," Benny said, then grinned at Dean. "Or French. I could do French."

"Maybe you shoulda tried that with the wendigos," Dean joked. As soon as he caught John's eye, however, the amusement fled his face.

"Let's go," John said.

Soon, they were walking again, in search of another monster or four to interrogate. Dean took the lead, John followed, and Benny trailed several feet behind. Over the course of the past few days, Dean had described to John what must have been the lion's share of the lore he and Sam had encountered in whatever form over the years. It had taken a while, and John had had plenty of questions. Angels, God, Lucifer, alphas, time travel, parallel universes, resurrection and Death…there was more than he could have imagined. Dean seemed to have a pretty good grasp of it all. "You should keep a journal," John had suggested with a smile. At this, however, Dean had only shaken his head, as though the thought caused him pain. John hadn't brought it up again.

In addition to discussing lore, some apparent sense of obligation had prompted Dean to fill John in on which of the people John cared about had died—for good, he stressed—since John had gone underground. Bobby, Rufus, Martin, Annie, Ellen, her little girl Jo…but the real kicker was Adam. Adam, the son he'd barely known, and the one boy he'd tried so hard to keep away from the life. But of course he would have been sucked in, in as violent a way as he possibly could have been. Once it touched you there was no escaping it, and that was the other reason he'd known he'd made the right decision with Sam and Dean. At least they'd been prepared.

What Dean had spared the details on, however, had been most of the specifics of his and Sam's involvement in all that had apparently happened. He knew, for example, that Dean and Sam were supposed to have been Michael and Lucifer's vessels in the apocalypse…but Dean had been highly fuzzy on the _why_, claiming angel mumbo jumbo and destiny and such, which John had a hard time believing. Nor had he been particularly clear on why he and Sam had spent so much time hunting the demon Lilith, nor just why Sam had gone off on his own to kill her. What most niggled at him, however, was how evasive Dean had been about what had transpired in the year between John's death and his escape from Hell. Not so much because it particularly mattered, now, but simply because John had gone to Hell worried about it and ended up spending untold decades getting flayed and beaten and scorched and pulled apart piece by piece, all the while wondering how Dean and Sam had fared with his final order. Still, despite his curiosity John had been willing to respect Dean's discomfort around the issue…at least for a while.

Now, though, they had a several hours' hike through the dull gray Purgatory forest until Dean was content to call it a day, and John was tired of wondering. "So Dean," he began without preamble. "Do you remember what I said to you before I died?"

Dean glanced back without stopping, but his face registered pure alarm and he quickly looked back to the path ahead. He'd been moving gingerly since the wendigo fight but now he went downright stiff. "Of course," he said.

"How did it happen?" John asked.

For a moment, Dean didn't answer but just kept plowing ahead, sweeping a thick growth of vines aside with his cleaver. "I told you Sam's fine."

John quickened his pace until they were almost side by side despite the narrow path. "That's not what I'm asking," he said. He had a feeling his son was being deliberately obtuse but—unlike Sam, who generally responded to a harsh tone by getting angry himself and yelling whatever John wanted to know in the first place—Dean would respond to being snapped at by shutting down and giving one-word answers until the conflict was over. Or at least, John thought, that was what his boys would have done six years ago or more. However, it was becoming more and more obvious that he barely knew Dean at all anymore. "I want to know how you saved him."

Dean still didn't look back. His voice was measured. "I told you. Yellow Eyes collected his special children and did some kind of battle royale thing to pick his guy. Sam didn't win, so me him Bobby and Ellen went out to the Devil's Gate. Not much else to tell."

"Look, Dean, my sources were clear," John said, in a tone that brooked no nonsense. "Your brother would have to be killed or be saved. I thought it would have to be me then I thought it would be have to be you. But there was no getting around it."

"Well I didn't do either," Dean snarled, then paused so that John nearly ran into him, and rubbed a hand across his forehead before letting it fall with a grimace. He looked back at John for a second but addressed his apology to the path in front of him, picking up his pace again. "Sorry. But that's not how it went."

"How did it go, then, Dean?" John pressed. The longer Dean evaded his questions the more he wanted to know, which made his son's reticence all the more infuriating.

"Doesn't matter."

"Damn it Dean, I'm your father," John reminded him. If Dean was going to act like a petulant child, he would treat him like one. "I went to Hell for you. I spent a hundred years on the rack so _you_ could live to do whatever you had to do and now I want to know what that was."

"That was why?" Dean asked, his voice hollow. Of course that hadn't been exactly what John meant, but Dean seemed finally to be opening up so John didn't bother to correct him. Dean whacked another rope of vines out of the way, gritting his teeth with the effort. "I didn't kill him or save him." John waited, and beat later Dean went on. "He died. I brought him back."

Not exactly what John had been expecting. "How?_"_

"I made a deal," Dean said quietly.

A deal. It took a second for the meaning of the soft words to fully permeate John's mind, but when they did his annoyance escalated to a blind anger, a raw seething sense of injustice he hadn't felt since the last time he'd spit in Alastair's face for offering him a way out. "You did _what_?" Without thinking he reached forward, grabbed Dean's shoulders and spun him around. Dean gasped and winced as his ribs pulled but John couldn't find it in himself to care. He was aware Benny was watching with concern but he gave even less of a damn about what the bloodsucker might think. "How much time do you have left?"

Dean closed his eyes. "I already paid my dues," he said.

John resisted the urge to shake him, fingers digging into Dean's arms. Dean opened his eyes, but his expression was guarded. John could barely believe what he'd just heard. "How long?" he asked.

"Forty years," Dean said. "The angels pulled me out."

"I went to Hell for you," was all John could say. He couldn't believe it. Dean, who he'd trusted implicitly…this went way beyond disobeying orders. Of all the stupid, selfish things he could have done… "I gave up my soul for you, boy," he gritted, "and you threw that away while I was still rotting down there?"

Dean did look him in the eye now. "I did it to bring Sam back," he said. "Figured that would mean more to you."

John snorted. "You should've found another way."

"You didn't."

John didn't like Dean's tone. "I only made a deal because the two of you didn't have the balls to kill Yellow Eyes when you had the chance," he said. He still remembered Dean lying on the floor, begging Sammy not to shoot. "I gave you an order and you should never have let your brother die in the first place. You let me down, disobeyed me and threw away the greatest sacrifice I could possibly have made for you, and you're trying to tell me you're in the right?"

"I did what I had to do," Dean said.

They stared at each other. Benny's eyes traveled back and forth between them uncomfortably.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" John asked, his voice hard.

Dean's hesitation told him everything he needed to know. John let go of Dean's arms, violently enough that he stumbled backward a step.

"You know what, Dad?" Dean's voice still had a defiant edge, raw now with emotion, and John narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling he would not like whatever came next. "Yeah," Dean said roughly. "I let you down. I let Sam down. I let half the people I cared about die. Hell, I don't know if I've saved more people than I've hurt. I took Alastair's deal in Hell after thirty years, Dad, and tortured innocent people for ten more. I kicked off the damn apocalypse and I let Sammy trust a demon bitch who got him hooked on demon blood so he could finish it off and when I tried to have a normal life and a family I just screwed them too. Hell, one of the last things I did on Earth was play nice with the King of Hell so we could do a better job fighting the leviathans. But you know what else?" He didn't wait for John's reaction, the words rushing out like he couldn't stop. "I did the best I could with this crap sack life you forced me into. And I'm still your son so that's going to have to be damn good enough for you." By the time he was done he was out of breath, clutching his ribs with one hand. His eyes were shining.

John took a deep breath, exhaled it, and for a few seconds said nothing. He knew he would have to learn more, to unpack the rambling confession his son had just made and figure out what just what kind of a mess he'd left behind…but now, he couldn't even think of handling it. "It's not," he said simply and honestly. Dean looked like someone had kicked his puppy. John just set his face and nodded to the path ahead. Suddenly he couldn't stand waiting there any longer, looking at Dean's face while the vampire stared at them both, mouth halfway open like he had something to say. "Let's find this angel," John said. "I want to get the hell out of here."

Dean nodded, swallowed, and turned away, starting slowly down the path. Oh, they would find this creature of his, John had no doubt, and he would even put up with the bloodsucker's irritatingly genteel presence until they did. What might happen next, though…well, he'd have to think long and hard about just how much he trusted Dean's judgment.

John followed his son, this time in silence, and none of them spoke again until several hours later, when Benny stopped and sniffed the air.

"Werewolf," he said, pointed over a short ridge, and addressed Dean. "Maybe this one'll know where your angel is."

"Yeah," Dean said gruffly, meeting John's eyes for a brief second before following the vampire's gaze into the darkening woods. "Let's go find out."

* * *

_Next up: John meets Cas!_

_Big thanks again to Becky for her awesome suggestions/edits._

_Also, thanks for all the reviews! I didn't have time to reply individually this week, but each one is very much appreciated. :)_


	4. Chapter 4

Cas sat with his back to a thick oak, arms draped over knees drawn up to his chest, his eyes closed and his head resting back against the rough bark. Listening. In the absence of sounds from birds and bugs and animals—save for the souls of toothed and clawed creatures, which could be as deadly as their bipedal brethren and as much cause to move—the rustling in the darkness only monsters. And in the stillness, even the soft impacts of leviathans hitting the ground and taking shape could sound as loud as cannons.

Of course, that wasn't the only reason he waited and listened as the shadows lengthened every night. Sometimes Dean's prayers came early, and sometimes they came late, but they came without fail, loud in his mind because angel radio was as free of chatter as the forest was or birdsong. _Please, Cas, if you can hear me… _

They had changed over the months. At first, as Dean had learned to navigate Purgatory's treacherous paths, rach prayer had been ragged and desperate and afraid. _Please, Cas…don't know if I'll make it another day. I need you._ As the days had turned into weeks, however, they'd grown more assured. Until one day, Dean's thoughts had come through unexpectedly with the frenetic energy of hope. _Cas, if you can hear me…there's a way out, and I'm not leaving here without you. Cas _awaited the prayers with mixed trepidation and hope of his own. Dean's prayers meant that Dean was still alive. But they also meant that he was still in Purgatory.

He longed to answer. But he stayed away because Dean was safer without him, and because he stll needed to atone, which he could not do if the human were there. Dean had too much faith in him and cared for him too much. Nor could he leave the drab forest behind, as Dean was so eager to do.

Tonight, though, the prayers were late. Perhaps, Cas thought, taking in a deep breath and exhaling it slowly, this was it. Dean had perished or escaped, and last night's prayer-which had been clipped an tense, though Cas did not know why-had been the last he would ever hear of him. the possibility brought a sinking feeling in his gut and he allowed himself to indulge in the additional human motion of burying his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the knees of his dirty scrubs. That was when he heard his name.

It was Dean's voice, of course, and for several seconds it didn't register that his name had been shouted aloud, not broadcast into his mind. Rather, it came from somewhere in the dark forest behind him.

"Cas!" Dean called again. "Cas, you here?"

"Dean," he murmured.

Cas could hear the footsteps now, crashing toward him through the undergrowth, more pairs of feet than he would have expected and slightly off course. For a second he considered fleeing again—Dean had not seen him yet and if he left now, the human would never know how close he'd come—but as foolish as it was, he could not find it in himself to leave. He could see his friend approaching, flanked by two larger men, and he stood with a sigh. as soon as he did Dean seemed to catch sight of him and beelined toward him, jogging the last several feet, one arm bracing his ribs. He looked as haggard and dirty as Cas himself, but as he closed the distance his face broke into a smile. his companions followed more slowly, and less happily.

"Cas." Slowing as he reached him, Dean looked him up and down for a second before stepping forward, his arms rising at his sides. Cas stiffened, waiting to be pulled into an embrace he neither entirely wanted nor understood, but it never came. Instead, Dean stopped short and glanced back at the bearded, dark-haired man who was catching up to him, and let his arms fall back to his sides as the man took his place beside him.

"So this is an angel," the man said, folding his arms. Cas squinted at him. There was something oddly familiar about him, but Cas couldn't imagine what it might be.

"Cas," Dean said again, his smile fading. He shook his head as though he couldn't believe it. "Cas, finally. You feeling all right?" He gestured vaguely at Cas's head.

"I'm perfectly sane," Cas said. He supposed there was no reason Dean should take his word for it, but there were more pressing maters to address, such as how Dean had picked up two companions in Purgatory. "Who are these people?" he asked, glancing around. There were no leviathans here now but that didn't meant they weren't on their way, and if Dean had managed to track him here he was no doubt leaving more of a trail than he had meant to. "And how did you find me?"

"Been looking a long time," Dean said, glancing again at the dark-haired man beside him, who was still regarding Cas with ill-disguised skepticism. Dean took a deep breath before gesturing between Cas and the dark-haired man. "Cas, this is my father," he said. "Dad, this is Cas." He also nodded to the larger, fairer man beside him—clearly a vampire. "And this is Benny."

"Hi there," Benny said. cas paid him little mind.

Dean's father just stared at him, eyes hard.

"What is your father doing here?" Cas asked Dean, looking back and forth between the two Winchesters. Certainly, he could see the family resemblance, he seemed to be as human as Dean claimed. But a human showing up in Purgatory where he did not belong was cause for concern; few forces in the universe could drag a human soul across the barrier. John Winchester, however-the man also who had defeated Azazel and who might have been Michael's vessel had his will to harm no others been less strong, but who had also controlled Dean far better than any other being had before or since, better even than the forces of Heaven and Hell-showing up in Purgatory where he didn't belong...that went far beyond concerning.

"Climbed out of Hell, started up to Heaven and got sucked back here," John said, raising his eyebrows as if challenging Cas to disbelieve his story. Cas merely nodded.

"We don't know why," Dean added. "But it doesn't matter." He glanced at the vampire. "We're getting out of here. Tell him, Benny."

Benny shrugged. "Portal to the other side. Good for humans, may or may not work for your high holy kind."

"It'll work," Dean said.

Cas didn't respond. He wondered how Dean would take the news that he wasn't coming.

"So why'd you bail on Dean when you got here?" Benny asked, his voice deceptively conversational.

Startled, Dean glanced at Cas, but immediately after his head turned toward his father.

A muscle moved in John's jaw before he addressed Dean. "He left you?"

"No, Dad." Dean's eyes slid shut, though whether it was the notion of Cas's abandonment or the prospect of explaining to to his father that was painful, Cas was unsure. He looked at his father. "We got jumped by some hairy freaks back there and got separated. That's all."

The wrongness of the assertion, combined with Dean's unshakeable faith in him made something inside Cas twist uncomfortably. "That's not what happened," he admitted. His soft words made both Winchesters' heads snap toward him. "We didn't get separated. I ran away." Dean's face registered first disbelief, then hurt, then anger. John's lips pressed together, his face darkening, and Benny stepped back with a sigh.

"You did what?" Dean sounded entirely disbelieving, as though he expected Cas to reveal he had been joking, or at least that he had misspoken.

"I ran away," Cas said again. "I've been tracked and hunted by leviathans since we arrived. You were safer without me." Of course, there was no way to explain his penance without admitting that he had no plans to leave Purgatory, which he still did not want to do. "In fact, you were all safer. You should go."

Even as the words left his mouth, though, and he watched John fix Dean with another shuttered stare, he found himself doubting his own convictions for the first time in many months. when he had arrived he had believed himself past the point of doing good, and the Winchesters past the point of needing his help…but it was becoming more and more clear not only that something stramge going on, but that it was something that Dean might not be able to handle on his own. John Winchester.

"Plenty of things triying to kill us too, Cas," Benny pointed out, spitting out the sobriquet like it was a curse.

Cas gave him a measured look. "Things," he agreed. "Not leviathan."

"And the difference is?" Dean sounded skeptical, and hurt.

"They would have killed you. I had to keep them away."

"You don't know that," Dean said, shaking his head. "I prayed to you, Cas, every night."

"You prayed to hot wings over here?" Benny asked Dean.

"I heard you," Cas told him.

"Every night?" Benny echoed.

Dean let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. "You heard me and you didn't—?"

He was cut off by a loud crash. Startled, Cas looked toward the noise, but John Winchester had simply lifted his spiked club and smashed it into a large rock sticking up from the hard soil.

"Shut the hell up, all of you," he commanded, and amazingly, they all fell silent. The elder Winchester's voice was heavy with threat, low in pitch but loud enough to cut across the others. He stepped up to stand between Dean and Cas, his arms folded and his feet set shoulder width apart. A challenging pose. Dean's gaze fell immediately, and Cas simply stared at the elder Winchester, nonplussed. "Now I want to get a few things straight," John said, fixing Cas with a flinty glare that might have intimidated had Cas not been familiar with much more fearsome creatures…his own father included. As it were Cas simply met it, waiting for whatever might come next. John's tone was incredulous. "What happened here is that you left my son alone here to be hunted for months because there were a few leviathans on your tail?"

"There _are_ many leviathans on my tail," Cas corrected him. Still, he could see Dean's face fall, though his friend was still looking at the ground by John's feet. His head shook almost imperceptibly as though of its own accord, Cas felt a stab of emotion, perhaps regret. He should never have shown himself. He wanted to tell them to leave again, but a persistent sense doubt kept him from opening his mouth. John Winchester did not belong in Purgatory.

"Then," John went on loudly, as though Cas hadn't spoken. Dean looked up and fixed Cas with a stare as well but his eyes were sad, not angry. "Then, you let him spend months hunting down every single goddamn monster who might have caught a glimpse of you when he could have _gotten out_ safe and gone home to his family. And this praying thing? I'm guessing that means you knew all that and you didn't do a damn thing about it? Is that really what happened here?"

"Dad," Dean said.

John turned on his son, effectively towering over him, and Cas could see the larger man's fists clench. "You said we could trust him," John snapped. "I'm not buying that, I don't want him with us and I'm not wasting any more goddamn time here."

"_Dad_," Dean gritted again, his eyes meeting Cas's over John's shoulder for a fleeting moment. His back straightened. "Look. If Cas says he was trying to keep me safe, then he was trying to keep me safe. I don't have to like it. But we're not leaving here without him."

"I don't think he wants to come," Benny said.

"_I_ don't care what he wants," John said, staring at Cas intensely for a few seconds before turning his gaze to Dean. "We're leaving."

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. "We can't leave," he said. His voice was almost pleading again.

"And why the hell not?" John wanted to know.

Dean's voice was bare. "He's family."

Cas blinked, trying not to show how the simple words had touched him. After all he'd done, after all the harm and the heartbreak and the betrayal…he did not deserve such kindness. And he especially didn't deserve such loyalty.

"Family?" John Winchester snorted, stepping forward so that his face was inches from his son's. His words were clipped. "There's no way. I've seen you running yourself ragged to find this so-called angel's sorry ass, and now you find he left you and couldn't even be bothered to tell you he doesn't want you around? My God, Dean, if that's what he is to you then I raised you wrong. Family my ass."

For a moment, no one said anything.

Dean bared his teeth. "You know what, Dad?" he said, his chin tipping up so he could stare his father in the eyes. His whole frame was tense as if ready to spring. "That all sounds pretty damn familiar to me."

John's brows drew together, his face uncomprehending. In a flash, though, Cas suspected he knew. Dean hadn't spoken of his father often, but when he had... _J__ust another deadbeat dad with a bunch of excuses._

"Oh, come on." Dean's hands had balled into fists to match his father's. Benny gave Cas a startled look, laden with concern, as if to ask silently, _Are we going to have to step in?_ Dean went on, his voice rough. "Doesn't ring any bells?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" John snapped.

Dean actually grinned, a sick, unhappy expression that made Cas want to step forward before things got any further. He suspected, however, that Dean needed to say whatever he was about to say, and held silent. Dean shook his head. "Come on Dad. You did the same exact damn thing. Hell, you left me for a year, a _year_, without any word and never answered when I needed you, and when I finally found you said it was for my own damn good. For my _safety_. And then you told me to get lost too. Remember that, Dad? Remember when I was dying and you didn't come?" He laughed. "Hell, I'd say Cas is more like family than he knows."

"We're not talking about this," John said, his tone short. "You don't have the right to question me, boy, remember? Not after all you've done."

Dean glanced at Cas again and drew himself up a little taller when Cas met his eyes. "The hell I don't."

John said nothing, just shifted his stance slightly, and for a pregnant moment Cas almost expected him to wind back and hit his son. He watched, ready to step in in defense if need be. He was aware of Benny doing the same on the other side of the confrontation.

"Yeah, Dad, I know I screwed up," Dean said after a moment. "And maybe Cas did too. But so did you."

John held his position for a few long seconds, but then his entire body seemed to relax, shoulders slumping as he stepped back and away from his son. Cas relaxed as well. "You know?" John said, running a hand over his beard. "You're right about that. About what I did."

Dean blinked, as if he couldn't quite believe what had happened. "Damn right I'm right."

John shook his head. "Doesn't mean this is over," he warned.

"Course it's not," Dean said.

"But this angel?" John looked at Cas, then regarded squinted at his son with an expression Cas found it hard to read. "You're different with him around."

Dean sounded surprised. "I am?"

"Yeah," John said. "You're stronger. That's a good thing."

Dean blinked a few times, then nodded to acknowledge the words but didn't respond to them. "So Cas," he said instead, turning to face Cas fully. His arms were out, again but this time, the gesture merely seemed pleading. "What's going on? You coming with us?"

For a moment, Cas said nothing, aware that three sets of eyes were on him and awaiting his answer. He had been so certain that he would never return, but clearly, the circumstances had changed. John Winchester didn't belong in Purgatory, and there were doubtless powerful forces involved to have crossed the realms like this. Powerful forces that, as an angel, it would likely be Cas's duty to help the Winchesters fight one more time. Even more than that, however, he understood that John Winchester had not been wrong. For whatever foolish, human reasons, Dean was stronger with him than he was without him. And under the circumstances, Cas supposed, regardless of his past transgressions, he at least owed the human what strength he could provide. There would be time for penance when this was all over.

"Yes," he said simply.

"You will?" Dean asked. As he'd waited for Cas's reply, the lines of his face smoothed and he looked, now, younger than his years. That, Cas supposed, was hope.

"I still don't trust him," John said to no one in particular.

"Still don't trust me either," Benny pointed out.

"That's right," John said. But for the moment, it seemed, they had achieved, if not peace, a temporary armistice.

Dean and Cas traded glances, and for the first time since he'd nearly embraced Cas but held back, his face broke into a genuine smile. "Cas, buddy," he said, "it is good to have you back. You have no idea."

Cas nodded, and returned the smile with a faint one of his own. He was still not certain that leaving Purgatory was the best decision, but until he knew what had brought John Winchester back…it seemed the only option.

After a few moments of watching Cas deliberate his choice, Dean's smile faded. "All right," he addressed the group. Though he hardly seemed aware of it, his hand had traveled back over his ribs where it hovered protectively, and he winced. "We got a portal to find, and I do not want to wait around here any longer. Any objections?"

Cas didn't respond, nor did anyone else. In the short silence that followed, however, he heard a noise he had come to recognize in an instant—the soft plunk-plunk-plunk of leviathans touching down and taking deadly shape not far away.

"Yes," he said gravely, ignoring the surprised looks he got from his three new companions. "Leviathans. _Run_."


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks again to Becky for looking this over and making suggestions!_

* * *

"Leviathans?" Dean barked. "Where?"

It was as if Cas's words sent an electric jolt through Dean, cutting through the swirling mess of emotions his last conversation with his dad and their meeting with Cas had set off in him. Considering how he'd already been reeling from his last conversation with his dad-_It's not_-and the wearing silence that had followed, he'd neither wanted this latest confrontation with his father nor expected anything good to come of it. He was stronger? What did that even mean? Adding to that Cas's revelation that he had heard every prayer, and stayed away anyway...he was glad to let his instincts take over and to let the pain and confusion fade quickly into the background. Even the persistent ache in his side from the ribs the wendigo had cracked seemed to lessen.

At the same time the world around him seemed to sharpen, colors brightening and each sound growing louder as his heart beat more quickly in his chest. His hand found his weapon automatically, and he was peripherally aware of John and Benny drawing theirs beside him. Cas, however, just stood tense and still, like a trapped animal.

"That way," Cas pointed. Dean swung his head around to check but all he could see was forest. "Approaching. Come on." He took a few steps forward but stopped, a spasm of frustration crossing his face, when only Dean followed. He pivoted with his jaw clenched, eyes demanding explanation.

"How many?" John asked.

"Three." Cas's tone was clipped. "We have to move."

"Four of us," John pointed out.

Cas's eyes met Dean's pleadingly, and Dean felt something unpleasant shift in his gut. Neither of them had made him choose so far, but if he had to...he had waited too long and come too far to leave Cas. But there was no way he was losing his dad again either. Especially not while things were still so screwed up between them.

"Can we even run from these things?" Benny asked. "I thought they were faster than your average critter."

"They are fast." Cas's voice was grave. After a second, though, he paused, his whole expression changing as his head tilting to the side and his brows drew together. More than anything…he looked confused.

"What is it, Cas?" Dean asked.

"The leviathans are leaving," Cas said after a moment. He blinked, and seemed to murmur the next words to himself, running a hand across his scruff of a beard. "Why are they leaving?"

"Who gives a shit?" John asked.

Dean couldn't have predicted what came next. Quick as lightning, Cas spun to face John, then covered the few feet between them so swiftly Dean could have blinked and missed it. He caught John by surprise, slamming him back against a tree and trapping him there with a forearm to his throat.

"What are you?" he demanded, shoving his face toward John's.

"What am I?" John sounded more surprised than angry, but that was clearly changing fast. Dean moves towards them, hoping to somehow get in between them. The scene was uncomfortably familiar and he recalled a brutal night in a dark alley years ago and how that had been the last he'd ever underestimated the angel's strength…or his patience. Dean edged forward and only hoped his dad didn't make the same mistake.

"Leviathans don't retreat," Cas stated, his face inches from John's. His voice was cold, however, and it was clear he was taking no pleasure in threatening Dean's father, nor was he angry as he had been in the alley. "The only thing that doesn't belong here is you. What are you? What do you want with Dean?"

Dean froze at the sound of his name. John didn't.

Instead, his frustration at being pinned seemed to bubble over and he shot out a free arm, catching Cas in the gut with a roundhouse. The angel grunted, but barely moved, shoving forward as John swung a knee up toward his groin and Dean grabbed both of them by the shoulder in a vain attempt to wrench them apart as they struggled. Dean was sure Cas could tear John apart if he tried but the angel was apparently holding back. Which was more or less what inspired Dean to try to wedge himself in the space between them get his back to his dad, and shove Cas away.

What he got instead was an errant elbow to the side—impossible to know whose-that under normal circumstances might have left him a little bruised and winded, but which connected instead with his hurt ribs and turned the persistent ache into a white hot spike of agony. He let go of both his dad and Cas to clutch at his side, face scrunching against the pain. His knees hit the ground and he shouted the first words that came to him through clenched teeth.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

When he opened his eyes Benny was standing protectively at his side, and both John and Cas had separated and were staring at him with mixed bewilderment and concern.

"What the hell just happened?" John asked, casting a side-eyed glance at Cas, who was still standing close to him. "Dean, are you all right?"

"Dean, I'm sorry," Cas said.

Dean just looked up at them, one hand on his side, still winded. His ribs still hurt but the blinding agony had passed. "Will you two...just...stop whatever you're doing?" he gasped.

"I didn't start this," John said. Which was true enough, Dean supposed, the more he thought about it. Hell, he'd been so worried about what dad might do upon meeting Cas he'd barely stopped to think about the opposite. The pain was retreating to a manageable level so he straightened, dropped his hand, and looked up at Cas questioningly.

"Dean, in all my time here I have never seen or heard of leviathans retreating," Cas said. "How can you be so certain this is your father?"

I'm still your son and that will have to be good enough for you. _It's not_. The words had cut so deeply—and been so much what he's expected from his father—he hadn't had a doubt since. "It's him," he said. John met his eyes briefly and nodded.

"How can you be so sure?" Cas pressed. "Think, Dean. Has nothing given you cause for doubt?"

No, Dean thought, only the word froze on his tongue. His father had mostly acted like he would have expected, treating him somewhere between a soldier and a child for whom he had unsurmountable expectations…except it wasn't ten minutes ago that he'd made a decision Dean couldn't understand at all. _Because he makes you stronger?_ That was hardly the kind of thing John Winchester said, and he should have been more attentive to it earlier. Hell, the last time he'd noticed his dad being so uncharacteristically accepting he'd been possessed by Yellow Eyes himself. He'd just been so worried about getting to Cas and keeping them all together and moving them out without crumbling himself, he hadn't wanted to think about what it had meant for John to have folded so easily.

He pushed himself to his feet, brushed off Benny's helping hands, and turned to face his father. His side still throbbed, so he kept one hand there, aware that it made him appear more vulnerable than he wanted to be. "Why _did_ you go along with this?" he asked softly, and gestured vaguely at Cas when John's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why let Cas come along? Because I don't buy this crap about me being stronger. And hell, what about Benny? The dad I know would never spend a minute with a vampire without trying to gank it, let alone a week." He gave the vampire a sympathetic look and vowed silently apologize for all of this—all of it, from the day they'd found Dad—later. "So what gives?"

"You're my son," John said, looking between Dean and Cas. His face showed a combination of confusion and indignation. "You don't even think I'd try." It was more a statement than a question.

Dean shook his head. "Never did before," he said. He remembered a time when he'd never contradicted his father, never fought, and wondered how he'd somehow ended up here—where they couldn't go half a conversation without an accusatory remark turning into a full blowout. He wondered if this was what it had felt like to be Sam, those last few years they'd all been together. If so no wonder he'd left for Stanford as soon as he could.

For the first time, the look on his father's face approached something like desperation. "You'd take this angel's word over mine?" he asked.

Dean swallowed. No matter what Cas said, no matter how much his father's behavior made him wonder, it was still his father. "No," he said baldly. "But I don't know anymore, Dad. Why did you do it? Why have you been so…" he searched for a word, because it wasn't that John hadn't been particularly tolerant or understanding, of Cas or of Benny or anything Dean himself had done. But if anything that was what made his recent actions even stranger. He scrubbed a hand across his face, aware that Dad and Cas and Benny were all waiting for him to go on. His side throbbed and he longed, for a moment, to just sit down and not get up again. "So okay with this?" he finished lamely.

John snorted. "You think I've been okay with this?"

"Tell us what you're doing here," Cas said.

A flicker of anger traveled across John's face again. "I told you, I don't know why I'm here," he told them, but his expression softened when he focused on Dean alone. "Son," he said, and seemed to be searching for words of his own. Dean waited, lips pressed together, and wondered what his dad could possibly say. "Son, the last time we were together you were a kid. More or less. But now…look, Dean, I don't have to like the man you've become. But I'm trying—_trying_—to respect the fact you are one."

"So you trust me when I say Cas and Benny are all right." Dean didn't understand.

John shook his head slowly. "This angel of yours is at least, well, on the side of the angels, but I will never trust a vampire," he said. At this, Cas squinted at him, Benny folded his arms, and Dean resisted the urge to let out a heavy sigh, which probably would have hurt more but accomplished little. John went on, his words deliberate as though he were choosing each one carefully. "But I've lost you and Sammy too many times. I don't know if it was Hell or killing Yellow Eyes or what, but I'm not losing you again. Not unless you do something so stupid there's no going back."

Dean had the feeling he didn't want to know what that was, considering Dad knew he'd basically started the apocalypse. Giving up hunting, maybe, or giving up on Sam. At least that would never happen. "So you're acting like you trust my friends because you don't want me to leave with them," he clarified.

"Don't worry," John said. "They look at either one of us wrong I'm going to waste them. Anyway, your vampire's got the way out." He looked at Benny with a leering almost-smile. "Be stupid to do anything before then." He let the unspoken threat linger.

"Of course." Dean glanced at Cas and wondered if the angel could sense his growing ease, if not so much with what John was saying than the fact that, at the very least, Dad was sounding like Dad. "And all that crap about me being stronger with Cas around?" Dean added.

"First thing that came to mind," John admitted. "Saw you weren't going to budge and had to say something."

Dean nodded slightly, swallowing back an unexpected wave of disappointment. Of course it had never made sense that John would approve of Dean's relationship with Cas, and especially not because it made Dean a less obedient son. But for a little while, he'd wondered if Cas's joining them might've really changed things.

"We should talk," John decided softly, and Dean felt his face slacken in surprise. "About everything."

Dean was pretty sure he could count on one hand the number of times his father had expressed any interest in having a heart-to-heart. Still, looking into his eyes, he thought he recognized what he saw there—a man out of his depth, struggling with a relationship he could neither reconcile nor let go. "We will," he promised.

John nodded once, and Dean felt a warm sense of relief surge through him. They weren't okay now, of course, not by a long shot, but there existed the possibility that they could be. And that was something.

Cas had watching the scene with poorly disguised impatience, clearly hesitant to interrupt, but he spoke up as soon as it was clear Dean had to more to say. "This is very moving," he said, and Dean had to bite back a smile at the unexpected, and perhaps unintentional, sarcasm. "But we need to focus."

"Leviathans, you mean?" Benny asked.

Cas nodded, then regarded John, who was still standing near him, with an expression like he was examining a leftover meal to see if it was good after three days in a motel fridge. "You've been here five years?"

"Yes," John said.

Dean looked at Cas questioningly, wondering where this particular line of inquiry was going.

"Have you encountered leviathans before?"

"Seen 'em," John said, shrugging. "Never seemed too interested in me."

"But they should have been," Cas said seriously. "You are a human in a land of monsters. Without me to draw them away they should have descended upon you the minute you arrived. They'd have done so to Dean as well if I hadn't kept them away."

The thought of it still hurt. But at least, Dean realized, Cas did seem to have had his best interests in mind…which was more than he could say for some of the times he'd been left behind by someone he loved or cared about. "What are you saying, Cas?"

"You sayin' he's one of us?" Benny guessed, then smiled slightly when Dean, John, and Cas looked at him uncomprehendingly. "You know. A monster." Dean supposed he'd enjoy the irony.

John shot him a dirty look.

"No," Cas said, meeting Dean's eyes reassuringly. "I don't think so. But if he's protected there must be a reason why."

"Protected?" John snorted. "I been fighting for my life since I climbed out of Hell. If I'm being protected someone's doing a piss poor job of it."

"Cas has a point," Dean realized. "I mean, if he's the only reason I haven't been dealing with leviathans solo this whole time, and those ones back there were running from you…could be you've got some levi repellent you don't know about. I've seen stranger."

"So what does this mean?" John asked. He directed the question toward Dean as if he didn't want to hear the implications from anyone else. But Dean just shook his head in an I-don't-know gesture.

"It could mean a lot of things," Cas said.

"Any of 'em good?" Dean asked.

Cas shook his head. "No."

"Of course not," John remarked.

"Well, I can think of one good thing about it," Benny said after a moment. "We got ourselves a leviathan-free path outta here. I say we take it while we can, as long as you three can keep away from each other's throats long enough to do it."

Dean looked between his companions before nodding slightly at Benny. He remembered that, really, all the vampire wanted to do was to get out of here, and Dean had been the key to his escape hatch. Though he'd become a friend he certainly hadn't signed up for this. "We'll manage," he said, and resolved again to both thank the vampire and apologize for everything that had happened.

He got his chance later that night. John had gone down to a stream running several yards down from their campsite, ostensibly to shave with Dean's knife, though Dean had recognized in his father's tone the simple need to be alone for a few minutes to unwind from the pressures of the day. He'd heard it plenty of times before, after all, after long hunts and fights with Sam alike. Cas too left a little while later, promising to secure the premises, though Dean was less sure of what he really wanted—or, if he was going to be completely honest with himself, whether he would even come back. The mystery of John's presence seemed to be holding him here for now…but Dean had heard his reluctance in deciding to stay. It had hurt almost as much as learning he'd stayed away in the first place.

Now, though, he was alone with Benny for the first time in a while and they both sat, if not stretched out quite so comfortably as they might once have done, with their backs to trees in in the small area they'd chosen to spend the night.

Dean waited until Cas was out of sight to catch Benny's eyes and speak. "Hey, man," he began, not entirely sure how to proceed. "I, uh, just wanted to say thanks. And sorry for all of this."

"Thanks and sorry," Benny smiled. "Suppose I'll take that."

Dean shook his head and returned the smile, though he knew his was sad. "I mean it. What we've put you through…what _I've_ put you through…I know you didn't sign up for this. But you've been a good sport and a good friend. I appreciate it."

Benny shrugged. "Ain't like I got much choice," he said. "Anyways, your family's your family. Ain't like you got much choice in the matter either."

"Nah, guess not," Dean said, and studied the ground for a few seconds before looking back up at Benny. "Still. My dad's not an easy guy to get along with, especially if you're a monster."

"He's your daddy, Dean," Benny said. "You do what you gotta do."

"Right." He swallowed, and tried not to think of how much of his life had been driven by that very thought. "Still. Appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," Benny said.

"Don't mention what?" John's voice came from nowhere and Dean jerked, reflexively reaching for his weapon, startled to see his father standing in the space behind both of them. His dad was clean-shaven, now, and he'd apparently washed then roughly chopped off some of his matted long hair. The effect was that he looked more like the father Dean had always known, and he felt something twist uncomfortably in his gut.

"Nothing," he said quickly.

John folded his arms and glared between Dean and Benny. "Nothing," he repeated, and maybe it was because the beard was gone, but Dean felt like a nine-year-old again trying to explain himself under his father's judging gaze. "Of course."

"Really, Dad, I was just trying to…" to tell him thanks and sorry for putting up with you. "He's been a good friend."

Benny shrugged, and flashed a grin.

"Sure he has," John said, then took a seat on a rock across from them. Dean remembered his declaration. _I will never trust a vampire_. And though John let the matter drop, Dean couldn't ignore the sinking feeling that he'd made a terrible mistake. John had never liked secrets, unless he was the one keeping them, and he already knew his father's patience with Benny was wearing thin. He only hoped it would hold out until they all made it safely back home.


End file.
